Brahe’s death is a matter of some controversy. The long-standing story goes as follows: Brahe was attending a dinner and was drinking quite a lot, as he was known to do. Custom did not allow him to excuse himself from the table until the host had done so first — and after many hours of continuous drinking without relief, the dinner finally broke up. Eleven days later Brahe was dead, apparently from a bladder infection caused from holding it for too long. It would be a fittingly odd end to such an eccentric life, but more recent studies found high concentrations of mercury in the hair of his mustache. Theories abounded that he was poisoned by his nose piece, or even intentionally by a power-hungry Kepler, but in 2012 result showed that no lethal poisons were present in his hair. “It is impossible that Tycho Brahe could have been murdered,” they claimed.
The forensic science of the time was too crude to provide us with an accurate enough record to be sure. He could have died of uremia, or mercury, or something else entirely. Regardless, his life ended in October of 1601, at 55 years of age. Seeing his death coming days in advance, he is reported to have written his own epitaph: “He lived like a sage and died like a fool.”
Such was the view of Tycho Brahe. His work continued to have influence for many years after his death, underpinning some of the greatest astronomical insights of all time. His methods of physical measurement and data analysis became the standard, his philosophy of all-consuming commitment to accuracy allowing virtually every major advance since that time. Brahe was a colorful character, but beneath the playboy exterior beat the heart of a true scientist. His name is attached to lunar craters and space probes, libraries and scientific awards.
In more ways than one, his legacy lives on to this day.